Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. But in fact they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman.
~ Margaret Fuller (1810 – 1850)
All of it is right here. Every moment laid bare and loitering, bright hues bursting into the edge of perpetual dark, a penumbra eternal and of right this second.
I fumble my way through an encumbering fog, my senses outstretched and probing. and alight gently in this place where what is sacred, what is us, is not something to be debated about or reasoned into existence or clouded by knowing but rather is the dot of our convergence. Formless so as to slip right through the clumsiest grasp. No time-stamped fragrance save the only, forever one. And yet so here, willingly offered, mine for the taking.
I am gloriously blind in this place, where seeing isn’t sight really but a greater sense, like breathing in with lungs made for drinking down everything and never choking.
Here I find us, lack nothing, and carry on . . .